


Stuck in the Lift With You

by McBangle



Series: Watford Industries [1]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Office, Coffee, Davy is sexist, Davy is the kind of boss who insists everyone call him by his first name as if they were friends, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drinking, Simon's 19th B-Day Fic, Swearing, Trapped In Elevator, pumpkin mocha breve, they're really not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McBangle/pseuds/McBangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as a stuck in the elevator one-shot, but I enjoyed writing it so much that I turned it into a chaptered office AU. Baz is the snarky, pretentious Cute Accounting Bloke, Simon is the Cute Idiot from Sales who’s Ebb’s best salesperson but costing Watford Industries a fortune because he’s terrible at the paperwork, Penny’s on the management track if boss Davy Mage would only recognize her brilliance, and Agatha is a frustrated artist in Marketing chafing at the corporate culture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Simon's 19th B-Day Fic project (http://sncwbaz.tumblr.com/post/146214838886/simon-19th-b-day-fic) as proposed by [Sncwbaz](http://sncwbaz.tumblr.com/).

I tap my foot nervously and check my watch. Five to nine. If I’m late to Penny’s big presentation, she will kill me for sure. She’s been obsessed with this presentation ever since Davy assigned her to be lead on this project. She’s certain a stellar performance on this project could be her ticket to a big promotion.

Penny’s absolutely desperate to be the youngest woman ever appointed to a Deputy Director position in the history of Watford Industries. It’s practically the only thing she ever talks about. I’m sure she will be, too. She’s the most brilliant person I know. But for all her undeniable drive to break the glass ceiling, she’s a nervous public speaker, at least for speeches as important as this. There’s no need for a lowly salesperson like me to attend today’s presentation, but she says I’m her lucky charm.

And now I’m going to be late for her big presentation. No, I won’t, I tell myself. If the lift doesn’t stop on any floors between here and the nineteenth, then I can still make it.

“ **And we can’t stop. And we won’t stop.** ” I sing to myself. Pen would probably laugh at me for singing Miley Cyrus lyrics in the lift, but I’ve always been convinced that words have power.

But perhaps not enough power this time. The lift stops at the fifteenth floor. “Bugger me” I curse aloud just as the doors open for that cute dark haired bloke from Accounting. He smirks and reaches a pointer finger toward the lift buttons, his finger hovering briefly over the already-lit “19” button before dropping his hand.

 _Oh, bugger me_ , I think. Not Cute Accounting Bloke. Not today. Merlin, tell me he’s not coming to Penny’s presentation. He’s always staring at me during meetings, clearly plotting something. I haven’t figured out what it is yet, but I will.

The lift finally starts moving again. 16… 17… 18… The lift lurches to a stop.

Merlin, no! Not now, not today! I press the “19” button over and over in a panic. If the lift doesn’t start moving soon, there is no way I will make it to Penny’s presentation on time. Move! Move, damn it, move!

“Bloody brilliant. I’ve always wanted to die on my birthday,” I mutter.

“Die? Who’s dying? We’re not going to die. People don’t die stuck in lifts, do they?” Cute Accounting Bloke asks. I turn to face him. He looks terrified. His face looks practically grey. His eyes dart back and forth. I think he might be hyperventilating. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually so _cool_.

“No, er… I don’t think so. That is… we’re not going to die. I’m sure it’s going to start up again any minute. It’s my roommate who will kill me if I’m late to her presentation,” I explain. For some reason I’m overcome by an impulse to reassure him. “We’ll be fine. The lifts get stuck all the time in this bloody old building. I’m sure they’ll fix it any moment now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not… I’m not… _fond_ … of tight spaces.” He’s definitely hyperventilating.

“Oi, you’re OK, we’re OK. Just listen to me. Look at my face. Ignore the rest.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “I’m Simon. Simon Snow.”

He looks at me, wild-eyed. “I know. I know you.” I could swear I almost detect a blush on his face before he suddenly straightens and his expression changes to a sneer. “You’re the idiot from sales whose accounts I always have to correct.”

“P-pardon?” I sputter, dropping my hands.

“For someone whose job it is to sell things, you’ve lost the company more money than you could possibly have ever brought in – or you would have, if I hadn’t found and fixed all your mistakes,” he declares imperiously.

“You… prat!” I yell. “I was trying to help you!”

“By ensuring my job security with a constant stream of errors for me to fix? Thanks, Snow, that’s generous of you,” he laughs.

“I _knew_ you were plotting something!” I declare.

“…‘Plotting?’” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Are you out for my job?” I continue. “Is that why you’re coming to Penny’s presentation?”

“Your job?” he scoffs at me. “Snow, you do realize, don’t you, that I’m three pay grades above you? But yes, I’m out for your job. And whose presentation?”

“Penelope Bunce’s presentation to Davy Mage on the strategic benefits of pursuing a hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation.” I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as his eyes go wide. “That… is why you’re taking the lift to nineteen, isn’t it?”

He smirks again. “Actually, I’m meeting a friend for coffee. But thanks for that bit of insider information. I’m sorry, I have you at a disadvantage, haven’t I? I know who you are through your… illustrious work ethic… but I don’t believe we’ve ever been properly introduced, have we?” He sticks out his hand. “I’m Baz. Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

Penny. Is going. To kill me.

The lift lurches again and starts moving. Thank Merlin, at least one thing is going right. If I run, I should make it to the conference room before Penny finishes her intro slides. Maybe I can salvage something from this disaster. It’s only nine, and it’s already shaped up to be the worst birthday ever. The only thing that could possibly make today worse would be if…

The doors of the lift slide open to reveal my ex standing in the hall. Baz’s face lights up into a huge smile.

“Ags! We have much to talk about.”

Bugger. Me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I was stuck in the lift…” Basil leans forward confidentially, and whispers “with The Cute Idiot From Sales!”_
> 
> _“The Cute Idiot was here?” I glance about. I’ve heard so many intriguing stories about this fellow, I can’t believe I missed an opportunity to see him… Oh no._
> 
> _"You never told me you know him, Ags!” Basil continues, eyes sparkling. “How do you know him?”_
> 
> _Oh, no._
> 
> _“Simon Snow is The Cute Idiot from Sales?” I ask incredulously. No, no, absolutely not. My work husband is not allowed to have a crush on my ex._

AGATHA

I pace the hall, checking my watch every few seconds. What in the name of Morgan le Fay is keeping Basil? I’ve been working since 7, churning away at the latest marketing campaign, and I’m absolutely hurting for caffeine. He’s never late for our daily coffee date; he’s at least as much of a coffee addict as I am.

Finally, _finally_ , the ancient lift pings, signaling its arrival on my floor. I hitch my bag up onto my shoulder. As soon as the doors open, I’m getting on that lift, whether it's going down or up. If I keep waiting out here in the hall, I will go absolutely mad.

The doors creak open, and just as I’m about to rush in, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of my ex-boyfriend. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since I ended it a few weeks ago, and I _really_ didn’t need this before I’d even had my morning cup of coffee.

Basil rushes out of the lift, eyes shining. “Ags! We have much to talk about.”

Simon’s eyes bug out. “Er… er… hi, Agatha,” he stammers.

“Hello, Simon,” I say, coolly, _Morgana, I hope it was cool_ , slinging an arm about Basil’s shoulders. “It’s been positively ages. You’re looking well.”

Simon looks from me to Basil and back to me, before settling his gaze on my hand on Basil’s shoulder. Unfortunately, Basil’s gaze has also settled on my hand on his shoulder. I worry that he’s about to shrug it off. _Come on Baz, just until Simon leaves! Thirty more seconds, tops!_ It would be brilliant if only Basil could read my mind.

“Er… I… erm… that is…” Simon never did master the art of speaking in complete sentences. He glances at the clock on the wall and gives a squeak. “NicetoseeyouAgatha, sosorrygottogo!” He runs – literally, runs – down the hall and around the corner.

“Feeling affectionate today?” Baz lifts my hand off his shoulder and drops it as if it were a used tissue. At least he had the decency to wait until after Simon had rounded the corner before doing so.

I turn back to the lift, just in time to see the doors slide shut. _Damn!_ “And now we’ve missed our lift down. Thanks a lot, Baz.” I press repeatedly on the Down button.

“Ooh, what’s got you in a strop this morning? You never call me Baz unless you’re angry with me,” Baz smirks, smoothing back his hair.

“I’m already –” I check my watch, “– six minutes into my coffee break and I still haven’t even left the nineteenth floor! I’m about to die from caffeine withdrawal, and you keep me waiting for six minutes, plus who knows how long it will take before the next lift comes?”

Baz smiles his best get-out-of-jail-free smile. “You can blame the company for that, or rather whoever is responsible for maintenance. I was stuck in the lift…” he leans forward confidentially, and whispers “ _with The Cute Idiot From Sales!_ ”

“The Cute Idiot was here?” I glance about. I’ve heard so many intriguing stories about this fellow, I can’t believe I missed an opportunity to see him… Oh no.

“You never told me you know him, Ags!” Basil continues, eyes sparkling. “How do you know him?”

 _Oh, no_.

“Simon Snow is The Cute Idiot from Sales?” I ask incredulously. No, no, absolutely not. My work husband is not allowed to have a crush on my ex.

“Shh!” Basil hushes me, just as the lift pings again. Well, thank Morgana for minor miracles. At least we can finally head down for coffee. The nice thing about taking a 9 o’clock coffee break is that most staff are heading upstairs at that time, so you can enjoy a private express trip to the lobby. I press the “L” button and wait for the doors to close before continuing the conversation.

“Simon Snow is my ex, Basil,” I round to face him.

“Pardon?” he starts.

“My ex. My most recent ex. The one I broke up with just a few weeks ago. The one you told me to break up with practically every morning over coffee. You _cannot_ have a crush on my ex. Forget about The Cute Idiot,” I make an X motion with my arms, “he is off-limits.”

But Baz only laughs. _Laughs!_ What kind of bloodsucking fiend laughs when his work spouse tells him to back off her ex?

“If he’s _that_ ex, then there’s no problem,” he rationalizes. That git. “Ags. He’s Perfectly-Nice-But-No-Chemistry-Fellow?”

I nod, reluctantly.

“You never really liked him, Ags!” he throws back his head in exasperation. “After every date, you told me all about how he was perfectly cute, and perfectly nice, and everything your parents would probably want in a boyfriend for you, but you just. Didn’t. Like him that way.”

Basil clasps his hands in supplication. “Agatha. If you were still hung up on a bloke, you know I would never go after him. But you never even really liked him. Please Ags, this is The Cute Idiot! Crowley, I could hardly keep myself from burying my fingers in his hair today. And you never told me about his moles! I knew he had a few, but I didn’t realize how many until I saw him up close. They’re like constellations all over his face and neck! Does he have them _all_ over?” He raises an eyebrow lecherously, then holds up a hand as if to stop me. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I want to find out for myself. And those eyes! I could swim in those eyes!”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. Fine. You’ve made your point. You clearly are more interested in Simon than I ever was. You can have him. But if he asks, I broke up with him for you.”

Basil laughs. “I’m flattered, Ags, but you ought to know that I’m gay.”

I shove his shoulder playfully. “As if I possibly couldn’t know that. But _Simon_ doesn’t need to know you’re gay.”

Basil lifts his eyebrow again. “I’m… pretty sure he _does_ need to know I’m gay.”

The lift doors open to the lobby. I check my watch again. Ten after nine. “All this gossip is seriously cutting into my coffee time.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Basil smiles his most charming smile at the barista. “The usual, please.” He turns to face me. “Ready to give the Pumpkin Mocha Breve a try?”

“Ugh, no,” I shudder. I have no idea how Basil can drink that sweet concoction. “Double espresso.” I hand my money to the barista.

“And make it quick, my best girl is in a hurry,” Basil winks at the poor barista. She practically swoons.

I roll my eyes. I’m glad he never tried to turn his charm on with me. “So I’m your best girl if it helps you get your coffee a bit faster, but not to help me make Simon jealous?”

Basil looks at me as if I’ve gone mad. “Priorities, Agatha.”

I tap my fingers anxiously against the counter while I wait for my espresso. I’ve been putting in extra-long hours these last few weeks, trying to wrap up the latest marketing campaign. I’m so tired I can hardly think. Just four more days until I leave for my holiday in Ibiza with Minty, I remind myself. I cannot bloody wait to leave Watford.

“I wonder where Simon ran off to in such a hurry,” I wonder aloud, absentmindedly. “That was odd.”

Basil barks out a laugh. “He was late for a presentation. About a planned hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation. You should have _seen_ his face when I told him my name. It was priceless.”

My jaw drops. “Davy’s planning a hostile takeover of your family’s foundation?”

He nods nonchalantly, taking his disgusting candy bar coffee drink from the blushing barista.

“Why are we sitting around gossiping about Simon over coffee?” I ask, dumbfounded. “Shouldn’t you be on the phone with your aunt or your father?”

“Why?” Basil raises that infuriating eyebrow at me again, as if I’d suggested the most absurd notion in the world. “It’s never going to happen. Bunce is in charge of the project.”

He’s gone mad. It’s the only possible explanation. “Penelope Bunce? She’s the brightest star at Watford and like a dog with a bone when she has a project.”

Basil smiles as if I’m missing something obvious, then takes a leisurely sip of his coffee before continuing. “Precisely why this hostile takeover business is never going to happen.”

“Pardon?”

“Bunce is Snow’s best friend,” he explains to me as if I were a particularly dull child, with just enough condescension to absolutely aggravate me. “I’ve seen the way they confab in meetings. Snow is obviously going to tell Bunce everything that happened at the first opportunity. And Bunce is far too intelligent to pursue a hostile takeover when the chair of the board's nephew has advance knowledge of their plans. Believe me, the moment Snow opened his mouth in the lift, the hostile takeover was over. Mage might not know it yet, but he will, soon.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has to admit to Penny and Davy that he accidentally told Baz about Watford Industry's plan to enact a hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation.
> 
> _R.I.P., Simon and Penny’s friendship. Cause of death: Simon’s chronic inability to keep his damnable mouth shut._

SIMON

“And as you can see, all of my team’s projections demonstrate conclusively that this approach is the most likely to lead to a successful outcome.”

I squirm in my seat. This is absolute torture. I've sat here for forty-five minutes listening to Penny give quite possibly the most important presentation of her career to date. She’s spent the better part of the last three months crunching numbers in preparation for this day. It’s practically the only thing she’s spoken of since Davy put her in charge of his team to research the strategic advantages of pursuing a hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation. It’s the biggest assignment she’s ever had, her big chance to impress Davy and, she hopes, her stepping-stone to Management.

It’s a brilliant presentation. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Penny do anything less than brilliant, but the amount of hard work and dedication she’s put into this project shows. Which is precisely why I am absolutely miserable.

Pen doesn’t know it yet, but I’d already arsed up the entire project before she’d even begun her presentation.

Well, that Baz bloke did, really. It was clearly all his fault. It can’t be a coincidence that he and I got stuck in a lift together on the way to Penny’s presentation. All I was trying to do was calm the fellow down, and he poked fun and sneered at me and before I knew it I had blurted out all about Pen’s presentation and the hostile takeover. How was I supposed to know that he was a Grimm-Pitch? He obviously had plotted the whole thing out somehow. Probably got the lift stuck as well, I don’t know how, but when I figure it out…

“…And in conclusion, we must act fast, and we must act decisively, if the hostile takeover is to be successful. Thank you.”

Bollocks. Well, there go my last few remaining moments of friendship with Penny, before she realizes that her best mate is a complete berk.

“Thank you, Ms. Bunce, for that highly informative presentation.” Davy tents his fingers and nods his head aloofly.

Penny stiffens visibly. She was hoping for a stronger reaction than “highly informative.”

Davy continues, stroking his moustache. “Your team has done an excellent job on this project, most excellent. I think you’ve proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is in Watford Industry’s best interests to pursue a hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation. I will bring your conclusions to the Board as soon as possible.”

Penny beams. I groan. Apparently loudly enough to draw Davy’s attention. He turns to face me, raising an eyebrow. “Mr… Snow, is it? Have you something to add?”

_R.I.P., Simon and Penny’s friendship. Cause of death: Simon’s chronic inability to keep his damnable mouth shut._

“Erm… I… er…” I stutter. “Did you know there’s a Grimm-Pitch that works in Accounting?”

Davy nods. “Of course. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” Blimey! His name is _Tyrannus_?? “Incredibly intelligent. Highly productive. Most likely up to something, but I find it valuable to keep an eye on him. As they say, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer…’ Why did you ask about him?”

I turn red. Oh Merlin. This is it. If Penny doesn’t murder me after this, she’ll have me on dishwashing and cleanup duty ‘round our flat until I’m a doddering codger. “He, erm, might know about the hostile takeover plans.”

Davy turns to Penny, cold fury in his voice. “How could Grimm-Pitch possibly know about the hostile takeover? That was top-secret information that _no one outside of this room_ was privy to.”

Penny turns pale. She opens her mouth, searching for the right response.

“I… may have told him.” I can’t sit by while my best friend takes the blame for something I did.

Every head in the room turns to face me.

“I didn’t know who he was! I thought he was coming to the presentation. I was just… making… conversation…” I trail off.

Davy cocks his head and squints at me as if he can’t fathom what it’s like inside my head. I could almost swear he looks amused.

Penny rolls her eyes and rests her head in one hand. No sign of homicidal impulses, at least not yet, so that’s something there.

After a moment, Penny takes a deep breath and speaks. “Davy, I apologize for taking up your time. Obviously we can’t pursue the hostile takeover under current conditions.”

Davy’s head snaps back to face Penny, furious again. “This changes nothing. I tasked you with determining the best strategy toward effecting a hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation." He jabs a finger in the air to emphasize his words. "So now a member of the family knows about the hostile takeover. Just… just…” he wiggles his fingers about in the air, “redo your calculations. Find me a different path forward.”

Penny’s jaw drops. After a moment, she straightens up, shaking out her curls and setting her jaw. “With all due respect, sir, what you are asking for is impossible. The Grimm-Pitch family having advance knowledge of our plans invalidates my conclusions. We can re-run our models with this new variable added, but I can foresee no possible positive outcome in this scenario. Simon.”

I glance up, guiltily.

“You said you thought he was coming to the presentation. I’m assuming you told Basilton late yesterday or early this morning?”

I nod sheepishly. “This morning. On my way up to the presentation. I’m real sorry, Pen. I’m sorry, Davy.”

Penny ignores my apology, checking her watch. “My presentation started just under an hour ago; you entered shortly after I had started.” I flush. Of course she had noticed me joining the presentation late. She’d been fretting over this presentation and had begged me to be here for her. I’ve been a right rat bastard of a friend to her today. First, late to her big presentation, then ruin the entire thing with my big mouth. And all because of that damned lift and that damned Baz. I should have known better than to think I could trust him, even for a second. He’s just so… _distracting_.

“Nearly an hour,” Penny continues. “That’s more than enough time for Fiona Pitch to confer with her legal team and convene an emergency meeting of the Foundation board. They’ll already be planning counter tactics. I apologize, sir, but this plan is untenable.”

Davy bristles. “First off, never call me ‘sir’. This is not the military and I’m not your father. This is a purely first-name-basis office. Second.” He clears his throat and looks about the room awkwardly. “It seems… there may have been a few unanticipated flaws in the hostile takeover plan. A few variables that you and your team didn’t account for.” Penny shoots me a Look of Death. Davy walks over to me and claps me on the back. “Thank you, Simon, for exposing the weaknesses in our plans before we had dug ourselves in too deep.”

My head snaps up. Did Davy just thank me for cocking up the hostile takeover he’d spent the last few months planning?

Davy smiles at me. “I think you’ve got a bright future in this company, my boy. I’ll be watching you.”

Did that. Just. Happen?

Davy walks to the door and then turns to address the room. “Well, team, this has been a disappointing morning, but I think we’ve all learned something. It’s time for me to lead Watford into a bold, new strategic direction. I’ll brief you all once I’ve decided what that is.” He exits the room to stunned silence.

Penny breaks the silence first, pointing a finger at me. “You.” Merlin, here it comes. “As soon as work is over tonight, you are taking me out to get pissed. Yes I _know_ it’s your birthday,” she cuts in before I can object, “but after this,” she gestures about the room, “you owe me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Penny and Simon get pissed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny takes Simon out to get pissed, apologize for spilling the beans, complain about Davy, and gossip about Cute Accounting Bloke.
> 
> _“Hah!” I laugh. “Please, tell me again about how you didn’t know that the Grimmest-Pitchiest person ever to Grimm-Pitch was a Grimm-Pitch.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Penny seems a bit OOC here, it is because she is very, very pissed.

PENNY

_We're born to fly / So let's keep living 'til it all falls down_

I bounce on my heels. This is my song! “Simon! Simon! Simon!” I yank on my bestie’s arm. “We have to dance! This is my song! We’ve got to dance! Let’s dance, Simon! I want to dance!”

Simon glances up at me, puppy-dog eyes full of tears. “I’m so sorry, Pen,” he sniffles. “I cocked up your whole project.” He is _literally crying in his beer_. “I’m the _worst_ , Pen. And you’re the _best_.” He pulls on my arm so hard that he practically yanks me down on top of him. “You are my _best friend in the world_ , Pen, have I ever told you that?”

Nicks and Slick, Simon is already in his sad drunk phase. He just can’t hold his liquor.

I sit down on the bar stool next to his, even though the _greatest song ever_ is playing and it is _calling me to the dance floor_. The sacrifices I make for friendship. “You’ve told me, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“I’m so sooooooooooooooooorry!” He wails. “I fucked up your project. I’m the worst! You must hate me right now!”

“Stop it!” I nudge his shoulder with my own. “I _was_ pissed off at you, but like, that was three beers and ten apologies ago. Now I’m just pissed!” I laugh at my own cleverness.

“Shimon… Si- Did I say ‘Shimon’?” I dissolve into giggles. “What was I saying? Oh, right. Shimon. I said it again!” I sling an arm about his shoulder. “It was only ever a shitty assignment. I crunched the numbers to prove what Davy wanted to hear, but the board was never going to approve of pursuing a hostile takeover of the Plimm-Fitch Family Floundation. Frowndation?” I cackle. That may be the funniest thing I’ve ever said. “Because they’re always frowning! Get it?” I poke Simon in the side a few times. Clearly he’s too pissed to appreciate my genius.

“There’s no strategic benefit to taking over a small charity. _Nobody_ cares about the Frowndation ‘cept Davy. He’s got a bug up his arse over that family. Forget about it. Can we dance now?”

“But it was your big chance to impress Davy!” He throws back his head a bit dramatically.

“Eh,” I shrug. “I worked my arse off for three months on that project, and he called it ‘highly informative.’ If I’d been a man, I’d bet he’d have clapped me on the shoulder and told me I had a bright future in the company.”

Simon cringes.

“It’s not your fault that Davy’s a chauvinist,” I reassure him. I signal the bartender for another beer. If I can’t get Simon to dance with me, perhaps I can at least change the subject. “Tell me again about the lift.”

Simon opens his eyes widely. “I didn’t know he was a Grimm-Pitch, Penny, I swear I didn’t.”

“Hah!” I laugh. “Please, tell me _again_ about how you didn’t know that the Grimmest-Pitchiest person ever to Grimm-Pitch was a Grimm-Pitch.”

Simon pouts. “I didn’t know his name, I only knew he was Cu– the bloke from Accounting who always stares at me in meetings.”

“Long black hair? Ultra posh? Sneers a lot? Thinks he’s better than the rest of us?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer. “That’s Baz. _Everyone_ knows Baz. How could you have worked with him all this time without knowing his name?”

“He’s just… he’s… he’s very distracting,” Simon stammers. “He’s always looking at me like he’s plotting something. I don’t know how he tricked me into telling him about the hostile takeover. At first I thought he was panicking, and I just wanted to calm him down. The next thing I knew, he was poking fun at me and calling me an idiot, and I just went off on him, and… well… I let slip about the hostile takeover.”

“Yes, well, it takes a great intellect to pull one over on Simon Snow,” I take the piss. He shoves my shoulder so hard that I nearly fall off the bar stool.

Simon sighs dramatically. “Out of all the people at Watford to be stuck in a lift with, he’s the _worst._ He thinks he’s _so cool_ with his shiny flowing hair and his flawless caramel skin that I could just _lick_ and his designer suits perfectly cut to show off his body.”

I laugh. “You practically sound like you fancy the git.”

Simon scoffs. “Pssht, no. Me? No. I don’t – no. Anyway, I think he’s dating Agatha. He practically ran into her arms when the lift opened.”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh, no, I’ve heard enough moping over Agatha from you to last a lifetime.” Siegfried and Roy, I thought I’d heard the last of Agatha after she broke up with him. He’s had a run of bad luck with women. I hope he dates a man next – some nice fellow who thinks Simon’s the sun and the stars in the sky.

Simon and Agatha were clearly incompatible, but neither one of them would ever admit it while they were dating. I try not to offer my opinion where it’s unwanted, but it can just be so _hard_ sometimes when something is just so _obvious_ yet the people around me refuse to see it. Like, how could they _not_ see how wrong they were for each other? How could someone miss something so obvious that it’s practically staring them in the face?

Wait. Did he…?

“Simon?” I lean closer to him, furrowing my brow. “Did you say you wanted to lick Baz?”

Simon starts. “Pardon? No.” He shakes his head over and over. “No no no no no. Er, I…” he clears his throat. “Kick his arse. I said I want to kick his arse.”

“Right. Right, right, right. That makes sense.” I nod my head. Perhaps I’m not holding my liquor as well as I thought I was – I’m hearing things. I laugh at my mistake. What could possibly make me think that Simon would fancy Baz? How absurd!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Simon Snow slinks into the lobby, accompanied by that friend of his. He looks… to be honest, he looks like he’s seen better days. They both do. Dark circles under two sets of bloodshot eyes, skin sallow, his auburn curls hang limply, while her curls frizz out of control – moreso than usual. A kinder person would let them pass without comment but, well, apparently I can’t pass up an opportunity to aggravate Simon Snow any more than Wellbelove can with me._

BAZ

I take a deep sip of my Pumpkin Mocha Breve as I settle into my regular chair next to Wellbelove in the office lobby. I wink at the barista – the coffee is in top form this morning. Not too much pumpkin flavor shot, just enough steamed half and half, the temperature just a few degrees shy of scalding my palate. She’s clearly been studying the directions I supplied to her. “Happy now, Ags? We got to the coffee kiosk in record time this morning.”

Wellbelove raises an eyebrow. “You must be very disappointed that you missed another opportunity to get stuck in the lift with my ex.”

She never could pass up the chance to aggravate me. “I could try to deny it, but you know I could never lie to my best girl.”

Wellbelove rolls her eyes.

“Admit it, you’re going to miss me on your holiday,” I promise. “You’ll be sitting on some dreadful beach sipping watered-down cocktails with that friend of yours, thinking all the while ‘If only Basil were here to save me from this tedium with office gossip and his delightful specialty coffee.” I hold out my cup enticingly. One of these days I’ll convince her to try the Pumpkin Mocha Breve. Not that I’m offering her mine. Crowley, no.

Wellbelove lets out a short laugh. “First off, I’m never going to like your candy bar drink.”

I hold my hand over my heart in mock offense. All right, true offense. The Pumpkin Mocha Breve is my most brilliant accomplishment. I will brook no dissent about it.

Wellbelove barely registers my response. An odd look crosses her face. “Second… It may be a bit longer than you’re expecting before we have coffee together again.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Taking an extended vacation now that you’ve wrapped up your latest campaign? Bravo, Wellbelove.”

She clears her throat, searches the lobby for a moment, then turns her head to look me straight in the eye. “I’m quitting, Basil. That is, I’m planning to. I haven’t given Ms. Possibelf notice yet, but I will before I leave for holiday.”

I tilt my head, confounded. “What in Crowley’s name happened?”

Wellbelove sighs. “I can’t stand working for Davy anymore.”

Ah-ha. Now it makes sense. Mage is a rotter of a boss. She’s fortunate to have a friend like me who can pull a few strings to line up another job for her. I clap my hands together. “Excellent! I’ll call my Aunt Fiona. I’m sure she can find a position for you at the Foundation.”

Wellbelove shakes her head. “No. Basil. I don’t want to work for your aunt. I don’t want to work for _anyone_ anymore. I’m ready to fuck on out of corporate life.”

I stare at her, baffled. I’m sure I heard her correctly, but I’m not quite sure I comprehended her.

She soldiers on. “I’m sick of implementing other peoples’ plans, on other peoples’ timelines and following other peoples’ priorities. I want to go freelance. I’ve been working so hard on one damned campaign after the next that I’ve hardly had any time for my own art.”

I furrow my brow. “Art?” I ask.

She nods her head, her face visibly relaxing and filling with an inner glow. “Yes, I’ll finally have time to devote to my own art, not sanitized graphic design on demand to sell whatever cogs Davy wants us to sell this week.”

I continue to stare wordlessly at Wellbelove for several additional seconds as I process her words. “But… how will you… make… money?”

A woman complains shrilly. Something about running late. I wouldn’t ordinarily listen to yet another dull person whinging about her dull life, but I snap to attention when her companion speaks.

“It was _your idea_ , Pen,” rumbles a voice I can’t ignore. “You practically dragged me out."

Simon Snow slinks into the lobby, accompanied by that friend of his. He looks… to be honest, he looks like he’s seen better days. They both do. Dark circles under two sets of bloodshot eyes, skin sallow, his auburn curls hang limply, while her curls frizz out of control – moreso than usual. A kinder person would let them pass without comment but, well, apparently I can’t pass up an opportunity to aggravate Simon Snow any more than Wellbelove can with me.

“Snow? What lorry hit you?” I sneer. Wellbelove slings an arm about my shoulders. I shrug it off. I’m content to play the boy toy to make any other ex of hers jealous, but not with Simon Snow.

Snow cringes. Bunce rolls her eyes. “Save the snide remarks for another day. We’re late to work.”

I would have let her pass without comment, but I can hardly resist the chance to pop her balloon now. “Bunce, you're looking as lovely as usual. How’s the hostile takeover coming along?”

“Piss off, Baz,” she spits out, squinting against the fluorescent overhead light.

“Oh, you know my name, unlike your dimwit friend, what a delightful surprise!” Snow shoots me a look like he’s ready to murder me. One of these days I’ll learn not to insult the lads I like but damn it all, this one is just too much fun not to tease. “Tell me, Bunce, what does Davy want with a charitable foundation, anyway?”

Bunce scoffs. “Charitable foundation? The Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation is solely in the business of making rich people richer.”

Now that is a bridge too far. No one insults the Foundation my mother established and that Fiona and my father have dedicated so much of their lives to. I stand up, affronted. “The Foundation does good work! My father personally established a program to donate state-of-the-art electronic equipment to disadvantaged children.”

“Disadvantaged…?” Bunce sputters. “You may be able to impress others by glossing over the details in that way, but I’ve spent the last three months researching every last detail of your family’s Foundation. Disadvantaged children my arse! The average recipient of the Computers for Kids program has an annual household income of 1.2 million quid!”

“Precisely!” I shrug my shoulders and hold up my hands in the universal you’ve-just-stated-something-bloody-obvious pose. “How could anyone be expected to live on 1 million per annum? That’s inhumane!”

Wellbelove stifles a laugh beside me. “Well don’t just laugh at the poor children,” I lecture her sternly. “You’ll be right alongside them soon if you go forward with your ridiculous plan to become a starving artist.”

I turn back to face Simon Snow and Bunce, a bit proud to have shown off my benevolent side in front of him.

Snow gawps at me, his mouth hanging open. I have the vague sense that he’s not stunned with admiration, although I haven’t the slightest idea what made him react in that absurd manner. “Shut your mouth, Snow, before you catch flies,” I remark snappishly, sitting back down again.

“Come on, Simon, we’re late enough as it is,” Bunce tsks, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the lift.

Wellbelove stares at me incredulously. “I thought you liked Simon? What was all that yesterday about running your fingers through his hair and counting his moles and drowning in his eyes? If you don’t like him then why won’t you help me make him jealous? Are you just trying to spite me?”

What kind of ludicrous reaction is this? Has she not been here for the last several minutes? “Of course I like Simon. Did you not see me flirting with him?”

She cocks an eyebrow and stares at me for far too long. “That was you flirting?”

“Of course it was me flirting, Wellbelove, where have you been?”

She sighs. “Oh Basil.” She puts a hand on mine and gives me an entirely unnecessary sympathetic puppydog look. “Well, best of luck with Simon. Do keep me apprised of the situation after I leave Watford. I’m dying to hear how it all works out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone, that took far too long for so short a chapter! I had initially planned a separate chapter on what prompted Agatha to quit Watford, but I had to admit to myself that it didn't further the plot and was a bit self-indulgent. I may yet write it as a stand-alone tie-in!
> 
> Next chapter: time to see Simon at work!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason why Simon doesn't ordinarily drink on weeknights. This was not a good morning to run into Cute Accounting Bloke, and definitely not a good morning to be called in to Ebb's office...
> 
> \----------- 
> 
> _Ebb gestures to the chair opposite her desk as I enter her office. She sighs heavily. “This sort of conversation is never easy…”_
> 
> _Oh Merlin! I’m being sacked!_
> 
> _“EbbI’msosorryIwaslateIcanfixitI’llsetanearlieralarmI’llneverbelateagain!” the words rush out of me._

SIMON

Oh bugger. Oh shite. For bloody Merlin’s sake, I am _never_ drinking on a Tuesday night again. I don’t care if it’s my birthday, or Pen’s birthday, whether we’re celebrating or drowning our sorrows. It’s not worth this pain.

My head is splitting. Did Davy increase the wattage on the overhead lights? And why have I never noticed that buzz before? How can anyone be expected to think around here with the light bulbs buzzing so noisily?

I’d have called in sick today, but Penny would never have allowed it. “Sick days are for true emergencies, Simon, not hangovers! Now suck it up and come in to work with me.” That’s the drawback to living with an overachiever.

This was not a good morning to run into Cute Accounting Bloke. I’ll bet I looked like shite. Er, no, I–. I didn’t want to run into him. Him with his little sneer and his fancy suits and his bronze skin and his… That is… What did His Poshness say this morning? Something about millionaire kids being in need of free computers? That’s right, I knew he and I would never get on. Penny would absolutely hate him, I’m sure. She’d tell me not to–

“Simon.” Ebb pokes her head out of her office. “I need to speak with you. Log in to your workstation and then meet me in my office.”

Well, blimey. Getting called into your boss’s office first thing in the morning is never a good thing, not even when the boss is as nice as Ebb is.

I set my bag down at my cubie and power up my computer. I login semi-automatically.

                                    User ID: SSnow01

                                    Password: Ch3rrySc0nes

The computer beeps, much louder than strictly necessary.

                                    _Error. Password not recognized._

_This account will be frozen after **three** incorrect password attempts._

_ Forgotten password?_

Oh, right. I’d had to reset my password last week. I flip over my keyboard and locate the sticky note with my new password. It’s a good thing I remembered to write it down! It’s too early in the morning and I’m too hungover to try to remember these kinds of insignificant details.

                                    User ID: SSnow01

                                    Password: R0@stB33f

The screen flickers for a moment, and then loads the home screen. I stick the sticky note safely back under my keyboard and straighten up. Time to face the boss.

Ebb gestures to the chair opposite her desk as I enter her office. She sighs heavily. “This sort of conversation is never easy…”

Oh Merlin! I’m being sacked!

“EbbI’msosorryIwaslateIcanfixitI’llsetanearlieralarmI’llneverbelateagain!” the words rush out of me.

Ebb blinks several times. “Pardon?” She furrows her brow. “Late?” She inhales sharply. “Oh, yes, you were quite tardy this morning. You’ll have to charge accruals for the late time. Mark your time card appropriately. Company policy allows a window of five minutes after your official start time, but you’ll have to use personal time for any more than five minutes you’re late. I’m forgiving, Simon, but try not to make a habit of it.”

I nod my head, my hands sweating. If this isn’t about today’s tardiness, then what did she call me in for?

Ebb sighs again. “Simon. As you are aware, our department was selected for routine audit this spring. The auditors identified several… irregularities… in your financial records. The numbers don’t add up.”

I start. “Ebb! I would never! You have to believe me! I love Watford Industries! I’d never do anything to harm the company or endanger my position here. Please, Ebb, you’ve _got_ to believe!”

My heart pounds hard in my chest. I feel lightheaded. My fingers are tingling – they weren’t tingling before, were they? I can’t lose this job. I need this job. My life changed for the better the day that Ebb hired me. I struggled my whole life in the homes and at uni. Aside from befriending Penny at uni, working at Watford has been the first time in my life that I’ve really felt like I fit in somewhere, like I had something of value to contribute. After being shuttled from home to home my whole childhood, it's been such a heartbreaking relief to have a stable job, to pay rent every month on the flat I share with Penny, to have a boss who values and encourages me… Fuck. I can’t arse up this job. Fuck!

Ebb takes a half step towards me and I almost imagine she’s about to hug me. Then she shakes her head and pats me on the shoulder instead. “I believe you, Simon. I do. You’re my best salesperson, and loyal to a fault. I’ve never known a more honest employee. But Simon. The numbers literally do not add up. You’re making sloppy errors and costing the company a fortune.”

My cheeks flush hot. That wanker Baz said the same thing to me in the lift yesterday. Bloody hell, if this is some plot of his…

I twist my hands together. “Maths are… not my strong suit.”

Ebb walks round the desk and perches on the edge, facing me. She nods her head sympathetically. “I know, Simon. I saw your financial records.” She sighs yet again. “You could have a bright future in this company, Simon, but you won’t go far if you can’t properly complete an expense report.”

I lean forward, speaking urgently. “Teach me, Ebb. I will learn. I will make the most perfect, error-free expense reports this company has ever seen.”

Ebb quirks a smile at me. “That’s the Simon I know. I told the auditors that I was positive it was just honest mistakes. They’re willing to let it go – for now – but you will have to demonstrate consistent improvement over the next six months or they will recommend your removal.”

I think my heart may have just stopped.

Ebb pats my hand. “It’s all right, Simon,” she says softly. “I know you. You may not believe it, but you’re a bright young man. I know you can fix this.” She straightens up. “I’ve arranged with the Director of Accounting to have a member of his team assigned to work with you personally to clean up your files and teach you the expense reports process and the company’s financial reporting system.”

My back straightens involuntarily. Oh Merlin no, not…

Baz strides into Ebb’s office, another damnable smirk on his face. “Fancy meeting you here, Snow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! I got myself intimidated because I knew that the story would kick into gear after this chapter, and I didn't want to eff it up! But I'm back, and I'm motivated again, and I have a lot of ideas for the next few chapters. 
> 
> Next chapter: Simon and Baz finally get some alone time! To... review... financial records. But I swear to you on all that's holy, it'll be 99% focused on their interactions and 1% on the financial records. I sympathize with Simon, accounting is not my strong suit either.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _BAZ:_  
>  A collective groan had passed through the Accounting Department after Director Minos announced at this morning’s staff meeting that the Director of Sales had pulled some strings to have an accountant save a pet of hers from being sacked. But I did not join in. I knew exactly which Idiot from Sales needed assistance, and I’d be damned before I let anyone else get this assignment.

BAZ

A collective groan had passed through the Accounting Department after Director Minos announced at this morning’s staff meeting that the Director of Sales had pulled some strings to have an accountant save a pet of hers from being sacked. But I did not join in. I knew exactly which Idiot from Sales needed assistance, and I’d be damned before I let anyone else get this assignment.

Not that I would let anyone else know how desperate I was to work one-on-one with Simon Snow.

I tossed my hair and raised an eyebrow. “Snow, right? Simon Snow? I’ve been cleaning up his messes for ages now.” I sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes. “I _suppose_ I could be prevailed upon to assist him. I trust this will be noted in my annual review and considered the next time I’m eligible for a promotion?”

Minos snorted. “Why am I not surprised?” He pointed at me. “Fix his mistakes, teach him the system, and if he does get sacked, make sure all of the errors were his, not yours.”

And that is how I ended up squeezed next to Simon Snow in his crowded cubicle. It couldn’t have worked better if I’d planned it all out myself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“All right, now.” I drop a full 80 mm lever arch file on Snow’s desk with a satisfying thud. “We both know why I’m here.”

He looks at me dumbly.

I run a hand across my eyes, take a deep breath and try again. “The errors, Snow. You’ve been misfiling your receipts, making obvious errors in your sales records, and I’ve yet to see an expense report of yours that wasn’t utterly arsed up.” I gesture to the file. “This file is full of errors of yours that I’ve caught these last few years. Evidently some slipped past me and made it to the auditors. I’m here to fix your mistakes and teach you how to do it correctly so the next time the auditors review your financial records, they won’t find cause to have you sacked.”

He squints his eyes at me and nods his head slowly. “This is about Penny’s presentation, isn’t it? You’re plotting revenge against Pen and me, aren’t you?”

I sputter. The accusation is patently absurd. “Pardon? Do you know how long an audit takes? The auditors started reviewing the Sales Department’s files weeks ago. I found out about your friend’s presentation, what, yesterday? I am capable of many things, Snow, but time travel is not one of them.”

He squints at me skeptically. “You’re not angry about Penny’s project?”

I smirk. “The hostile takeover of my family’s foundation? I know your friend well enough to know I’ve nothing to worry about.”

He growls at me. Actually. Growls. Aleister Crowley! I think I felt that all the way down to my toes! I discretely fold my hands over my lap and make an effort to focus on what he’s saying.

“Penny is _brilliant_ , you wanker.”

Oh, this again. How many times and to how many people must I explain this concept? “Yes, yes, she’s brilliant.” I roll my eyes. “Acknowledged. She is brilliant enough to have understood that any hostile takeover of the Grimm-Pitch Family Foundation would have no conceivable benefit to the company other than furthering Mage’s vendetta against my family. And she’s more than brilliant enough to understand that hostile takeovers don’t generally work when the takeover-ee has been given advanced warning.”

Snow flushes bright red at that. It’s… quite becoming, actually.

I clear my throat and continue. “So no, I’m not concerned about the hostile takeover. Let’s focus on the task at hand. I’m here to teach you basic financial record-keeping. Let’s start with your sales records.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SIMON

Basilton Grimm-Pitch - Cute Accounting Bloke – that stuck-up prat – has been spending hours all this week teaching me recordkeeping.

And. It’s actually. Not bad. He’s actually a pretty good teacher. I could live without the sarcasm and the sneering, though.

It turns out I’ve been filling out my paperwork all wrong, and misplacing my receipts. I wouldn’t admit that out loud to him. I could only imagine how he’d smirk at that.

I’m not thick, you know. I could have learned to do the paperwork correctly on my own. It just… never interested me. I love my job. It’s not just about making the sale to me. I love figuring out what prospective clients want and need and how Watford can meet those needs. I love checking in with existing clients to see how we’re doing and what we can do better. I’m problem solving and helping people every day and I love it.

And then every so often I have to fill out some paperwork. And file some receipts. And there are just so much more interesting things that I’d rather be doing.

I never meant to cost the company money. I just figured that if I was doing something wrong, someone would tell me. I hadn’t realized the way I would find out would be my boss telling me to fix it or be sacked.

I was positive Baz would use this as an opportunity to poke fun at me, but he’s actually been very professional. And surprisingly patient. He even has a couple of good memory tricks that have really helped!

Plus, he smells really good. Like tobacco and cinnamon. Yum.

That’s not a good thing. I think he’s dating Agatha? Anyway, that posh git would never go for someone like me.

“Snow?” Baz snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Are you there?”

Oh Merlin, I’ve done it again. If Baz keeps catching me staring at him, he’ll think I’m a nutter for sure. He’s just too damned distracting.

“Could you put your hair up?” I blurt out.

“Pardon?” He looks at me as if I had sprouted wings and a tail.

“Your hair. It’s… unhygienic.”

His back straightens. “What are you implying, Snow?”

“It’s… it’s unprofessional. In a place of work,” I stammer.

He glares at me. “Are you in charge of the office dress code now, Snow? I assure you, I am well within my rights to wear my hair however I please, and if you have a problem with that, you can take it to H.R.”

I sigh. “Can you– Can you just put it up? Please?” The last word comes out as a bit of a whinge.

I suppose he takes pity on me, as he fishes an elastic out of his pocket and ties his hair up into a bun.

Blimey. He looks even better that way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BAZ

“All right, Snow.” I find a spot for my Pumpkin Mocha Breve on his mess of a desk, and settle in for what will undoubtedly be another long day. “You’ve made good progress with your sales records and paperwork. Today I’m going to teach you the company’s financial reporting system.”

“I know the FRS,” he protests. I hold up a hand before he complains any further.

“No. You don’t, Snow. Why do you suppose so many of your expense reports are denied or returned to you for revision? You need to relearn the system from the ground up, and I’m going to teach you. I’ll start by walking you through a basic expense report. Pass me your keyboard.”

Snow reluctantly hands over his keyboard, miraculously without knocking over any of the detritus on his desk. As the keyboard passes from his hands to mine, a yellow slip of paper detaches itself and floats down to the ground.

“What’s this?” I pick up the paper and turn it over so I can read it.

UserID: SSnow01

P’word: ~~Ch3rrySc0nes~~ R0@stB33f

I stare at the paper for a beat longer before turning to look at the beautiful idiot sitting next to me. “Snow? Is this your password?”

“Shhh!” He holds a finger to his mouth then looks about as if to see if any of his coworkers had overhead our conversation. “Baz! No one’s supposed to know about that!”

He’s done it. Simon Snow has struck me dumbfounded. “Snow. Has no one ever told you not to write your password on a sticky note?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “You’re not to write your password on a sticky note _stuck to your monitor_. I hid mine under my keyboard.”

“That is literally the second place anyone would look!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I must admit that Snow is making good progress at this. I may have judged him too harshly. He’s not an idiot, he’s just been careless. He has the bizarre ability to simply choose not to think about things. I wish I could choose not to think about certain things.

Of course, his refusal to think about financial accounting nearly got him sacked. On the other hand, it got me assigned to help him, so it’s not all bad.

I was positive that Snow would be as inattentive to me as he’d been to his paperwork, but he’s actually an eager learner. And surprisingly grateful. When I taught him a few simple mnemonics to help him learn the filing system, he got so adorably excited. He’d smiled up at me with those puppydog blue eyes, and I’d practically had to sit on my hands to hold back a nearly overwhelming urge to run my fingers through his bronze curls.

But I think my favorite part of this assignment is moments like the present. While he’s concentrating on trying to fill out an electronic expense report, I have ample opportunity to study his profile. He has three moles on his left cheek, and more moles and freckles running down his neck. I’d love to play dot-to-dot with those moles. I’d love to–

“Did I do it right this time, Baz?” Simon looks at me anxiously, biting his lower lip in a way that makes me want to…

Crowley, one of these days he is going to notice the way I stare and him and probably will hate me for it. I’ve got to get it together before this kills me. There’s no sense in pining over Simon Snow. He’d never be interested in a bloke like me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SIMON

“For someone who loves making fun of my mess, Baz, you are a slob.”

Baz raises one eyebrow and talks through a mouthful of salt and vinegar crisps. “Me? Never.”

“You’re spilling crumbs all over my desk,” I point out. “It’ll take me ages to get them out from between the keys of my keyboard.”

Baz rolls his eyes at me, then seeing my annoyance is genuine, sets down the bag, flips the keyboard upside down, and knocks most of the crumbs out from the keyboard onto my desk. Then, he brushes the crumbs off of my desk and onto the floor with the side of his hand. “Satisfied, Snow? All clean now.”

I stare at him in shock. “No, not clean. Now the crumbs are on the floor!”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Watford pays cleaners good money to hoover the floor. They’ll probably be grateful for the work.”

He can be an utter prat sometimes. “They don’t pay the cleaning staff nearly enough, and do you think they enjoy cleaning up after selfish gits?”

He snarls. “You’re one to talk. This morning I nearly ruined my suit sitting on a scone you’d left lying about for some Crowleyforsaken reason.” He gestures toward his fancy trousers. “This is a [McQueen original](http://www.alexandermcqueen.com/us/alexandermcqueen/tailored-pant_cod36855818vk.html#dept=m_tailoring). I should have pushed you down the stairs for that!”

I stiffen. In a quiet voice, I inform him, “I’d left that scone for you because I thought you’d like it. It was my favorite kind. I won’t make that mistake again.”

His eyes widen, and I almost see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. After a moment of silence, he slides off his chair to crouch on the ground. He sweeps up the crumbs on the ground, gathers them up in one hand, and carries them to the rubbish bin. When he sits back down again, he looks me in the eye.

“Simon. Thank you for the scone. I’m sorry that I sat on it. And I’m sorry for the crumbs. I will take better care in the future.”

Something flutters in my chest. He’s never called me Simon before. I’m sure he’d deny it if I pointed it out. And believe me, I’m tempted to do so. So tempted. But–

“You’re really out of touch sometimes, you know that, don’t you?” I shake my head, breaking his gaze.

“Me? Never,” he scoffs. And then, to my surprise, his voice softens in a way I haven’t heard before. “Is this about the scone?”

I snicker, I can’t help it. “No, not the scone. Believe it or not, not everything is about food with me.” I look him back in the eye and lean closer toward him, my elbows on my knees. His breath hitches and he leans ever-so-slightly backwards. I’m not sure whether I should be offended or intrigued.

“Baz. The cleaning staff don’t live to clean up your messes. You know that, don’t you?” I ask, hoping against hope that the answer is yes. “And… you don’t _really_ think millionaires are needy children, do you?”

He blanches. “I… Your friend is wrong about my family’s foundation. My Aunt Fiona is trying to help people, not just the wealthy families. They do a lot of good works. They support polio vaccine programs in Africa and the RSPCA…”

I shake my head. “I’m not here to argue with you over politics. That’s Penny’s area, not mine. I just… I’m not bloody like you, alright?”

He furrows his brow. Siegfried and Roy, why does he have to look so damned handsome no matter what he does? It’s really not fair!

I continue. “I just… maybe I should just show you. Can I show you?”

He gawps at me and nods his head. Thank Merlin he hasn’t yet made a snarky comment and ruined the mood. This may be a world record.

I give him the address for a particular Costa Coffee. “Meet me tomorrow morning at 10. It’s _not_ a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing this chapter: We're going to need a montage (montage)!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> So, I went back and forth on whether the last section belonged in Chapter 7 or Chapter 8, but after starting to write Chapter 8 ( _after_ posting Chapter 7), I realized it really should have gone in this Chapter, so I added it back in. Apologies to anyone who read it the first time through and missed it!
> 
> For anyone who missed the hyperlink, I envisioned Baz wearing [these trousers](http://www.alexandermcqueen.com/us/alexandermcqueen/tailored-pant_cod36855818vk.html#dept=m_tailoring), no doubt accompanied by [this suit jacket](http://www.alexandermcqueen.com/us/alexandermcqueen/tailored-jacket_cod49198369fl.html#dept=llmnrtw_glr).
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> Yes, the chapter total just changed from ? to 9. Two chapters remaining! I have them both outlined. Not much longer now!
> 
> I've created a "Watford Industries" series for an eventual two-part tie-in Agatha fic based off of the chapter I had to cut that originally would have fallen between chapters 4 and 5. I'm planning to write it after I finish "Stuck in the Lift With You."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Five after ten. Snow is late. Honestly, how could I have expected otherwise? He’s perpetually late. It was foolish of me to expect anything different of him on–_
> 
> _It’s not a date. He said it wasn’t a date. He was clear about that. I’m not sure why I’m meeting him at a Costa Coffee in an East End neighborhood I would ordinarily never step foot in, but it is obviously not for a date._

BAZ

I drum my fingers on the lid of my takeaway coffee cup lid. It makes a satisfying tapping sound.

Five after ten. Snow is late. Honestly, how could I have expected otherwise? He’s perpetually late. The first day I’d been assigned to work with him, he’d made a lot of noises about setting his alarm and never being late again (apparently he’d been reprimanded for tardiness or somesuch), but that resolution hadn’t even lasted a day. His manager had barely noticed when Snow stumbled in apologetically late the next morning, and after that he’d dropped all pretense of timeliness. It was foolish of me to expect anything different of him on–

It’s not a date. He said it wasn’t a date. He was clear about that. I’m not sure why I’m meeting him at a Costa Coffee in an East End neighborhood I would ordinarily never step foot in, but it is obviously not for a date.

And if not-my-date is any later, his Pumpkin Mocha Breve will be tepid. I went to great lengths to teach this barista how to make the perfect PMB, so he’d better–

“Sorry, Baz. Sorry. Sorry I’m late,” the man of the hour breathlessly approaches the table. “Pen was hogging the loo, and the Tube was delayed, sorry.”

I glance up with affected nonchalance. “Oh, are you late? I hadn’t noticed. My life doesn’t revolve around you, Snow. I’ve been enjoying my coffee. Since you were la– er, likely… to be… tired? I got you one as well.” I stand up and casually hold the second cup out to him.

Rather than take the cup (which I have to admit, has not gotten tepid at all, in fact it’s rather hot, _why isn’t he taking this cup??_ ) he just. Stands there. And goggles at me. Or rather, at my trousers. “Er… Snow?”

He blinks several times. “Baz. You’re wearing jeans!”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yes…? It’s Saturday morning, Snow. Did you imagine I wear bespoke suits on my days off?”

He stares at me blankly.

“Bespoke suits are…” I gesture over my torso with my free hand. “Designer suits, made to my measurements. Very expensive. I don’t ordinarily wear them on the weekend.”

He gives his head a little shake and smiles lopsidedly. “Right. You wouldn’t want to get scones on one of them.”

I laugh. “Actually, that suit was off-the-rack, but…” I check myself. “You get the idea.”

He nods. “Right. I don’t know what I thought you would wear outside of work. It’s definitely not something I’ve thought about,” his voice speeds up. “We don’t need to talk about this anymore. Is that for me?” He takes the cup out of my hand and drinks a large gulp.

I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “It’s a Pumpkin Mocha Breve. My own original creation. I’d never been to this Costa before, so I had to teach the barista how to make it, so it’s not entirely up to my usual standards, but it’s a fair approximation.”

He smiles awkwardly. “It’s… sweet.”

“You’re welcome,” I beam. “If you like it, the barista at the coffee kiosk in the Watford lobby can make it to my exact specifications."

“Hmmmm,” he hums noncommittally. “Let’s go. There’s something I want to show you.”

 

SIMON

As Baz steps out of the coffee shop, I hang back a moment to drop the coffee cup in the nearest rubbish bin and tip the barista an extra quid for having put up with Baz's teaching him how to make that monstrosity. It tasted like someone had melted a candy bar in a takeaway cup and called it coffee. I prefer tea over coffee, anyway.

At any rate, walking behind Baz gives me a nice view of his bum in jeans. Merlin! Why had I never before considered Baz in jeans? He looks… that is… it’s just… Merlin!

 

BAZ

Snow catches up to me on the street, after apparently having gotten lost walking 5 metres from our table to the door. I fish my packet of cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket and light one.

“That’ll kill you, you know.” He shoots me a disapproving look.

I laugh bitterly. “There are worse things that could happen.”

He shakes his head. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

I open my mouth to respond. And then.

He.

Takes.

My.

Hand.

 

SIMON

Baz’s hand is colder than I expected.

He stiffens and for a moment I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. But before I can say or do anything, he squeezes my hand back and starts walking.

It’s nice. I dunno why I grabbed his hand. It just felt right. I think it _is_ right.

 

BAZ

I’m holding hands with Simon Snow. Simon Snow is holding hands with me.

His hand is warm, even for a summer’s day.

Oh Crowley, what about my hand? Is it sweating? How can I discretely check whether my hands are sweating without losing my cool?

I take a puff on my cigarette and sneak a glance at my hand. Crowley, it’s shaking! Why is my hand shaking, I am a fully grown man!

I am dimly aware that I am walking. Where are we walking to? I sincerely hope Simon knows where we are walking to. I am holding hands with Simon Snow and wandering about the East End with shaking and no doubt sweaty hands. This is terrible and wonderful and I am holding hands with Simon Snow!

 

SIMON

I may have discovered the secret to shutting off Baz’s sarcasm. First by asking him to coffee and then by holding his hand. He hasn’t sneered once since I took his hand. It’s nice. I wish I’d done this a bit sooner.

 

BAZ

“That’s it.” Simon drops my hand and points across the street. Apparently we’re here. Wherever here is.

“That was the last home I lived in before uni,” he continues.

Oh. _Oh_. He’s taken me home to meet his parents. Well. That’s awfully forward for a first date. Not a date. A first whatever-this-is.

I peer at the house. It’s an unremarkable looking building in a working class neighborhood. A far cry from my father’s estate, but I knew he came from a different background than mine.

My throat feels a bit dry. I clear it awkwardly. “Do your parents still live there?”

He looks as me oddly. “No. It wasn’t _my_ home, it was _a_ home. I never knew my parents. They abandoned me when I was a baby. I spent my childhood in foster care and was placed in one children’s home after another for the last couple of years before I aged out.”

“I… I… had no idea,” I stammer. What is the right thing to say in this scenario? Are there guide books for what to say when your not-a-boyfriend tells you he grew up in foster care after you’d just spent the last few days acting poncy and pretentious?

He shakes his head. “Why would you? It’s not something you can tell at a glance. And stop looking at me like that, by the way,” he reprimands me.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re worried about me. It wasn’t like the television dramas. It was okay. Not great – but most of my foster families were very caring. I think they all did their best, with what they had. It could have been worse. In fact, I know it was a lot worse for some other people. I was lucky, I guess.

“But this is where I’m from. I never had anything I didn’t share, or anything I could bring with me when I moved to a new home. You grew up thinking it was unthinkable to live on a million quid a year.”

I cringe. “If I could travel back in time to punch myself in the face for saying that, I would.”

He smiles, not without affection. “But you’re not capable of time travel, are you? Look, Baz, I’m not here to shame you or teach you a lesson. I’ve already told you that’s Penny’s area, not mine. And believe me, if you ever feel a need to be guilt tripped or lectured at, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to volunteer.”

I shift awkwardly. “Yes, well, I’m starting to think I’d better take her up on that offer.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. But, Baz. You’re from a world I would never fit into. And I come from a world you wouldn’t even understand.”

“Right.” I nod my head, examining the pristine toes of my poncy boat shoes. Maybe I’ll just skip the time travel and punch myself in the face right now. “I get it, Snow. We’re too different.”

He growls. “Damn it Baz, that’s not what I–”

And then…

 

SIMON

And then I kiss him. I grab him by the shirt and pull him in to me. I push up on my toes and press my lips hard against his. It’s the only way I could think of to shut both him and myself up. All of the words were coming out all wrong. That wasn’t what I’d meant; _this_ is what I’d meant.

I think I actually might scare him a bit for a moment. He goes tense all over like he had when I’d first held his hand. Then his lips soften against mine and he tangles his fingers in my hair and he nips at my lower lip and _oh_!

I don’t know why I spent so much time being suspicious and resentful of him. This is so much nicer. I run the tip of my tongue along his lips and he opens for me. I can still taste that sweet coffee on his breath, mixed with cigarette smoke. I slip a hand up into his hair like I’ve been dying to do all week and…

He pulls away from me and pulls a face. “Snow? You have one hand in my hair and the other on my shirt.”

“Yeah?” I drop my hands. Was that not okay? Have I done something he wasn’t comfortable with?

He furrows his brow. “You have two hands free?”

I look at my hands. “I do. So…”

“So where’s your Pumpkin Mocha Breve?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to make it perfectly clear that I neither condone nor endorse punching Baz in his beautiful, beautiful face, but Baz is a bit prone to self-hatred, isn't he?
> 
> Almost finished now! Epilogue to come within the next few days. Stay tuned!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of "Stuck in the Lift With You". Simon and Baz have been working late. I hope they don't get stuck in the office lift again (wink wink, nudge nudge)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet this time!

SIMON

It’s been another long slog of a day at the office, working through financial records. Baz and I stayed an hour past the last other staffer on my floor, trying to finish up work on the Rowell account. Baz says I’m making good progress learning the Financial Reporting System, and we should be nearly finished cleaning up my expense reports soon. I’ll be happy to get back to working regular hours, and to have more time to spend with Penny, but it has been nice working with Baz every day – not that I’d admit it to the stuck-up git if he ever asked.

“Curry tonight?” Baz asks as we enter the lift. “Or kebabs?”

“Roast beef?” I suggest.

He shakes his head. “Not in the mood for roast beef tonight.” I have no idea how anyone could ever not be in the mood for roast beef.

“Sour cherry scones, then!”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Scones are _not_ dinner food.”

“Scones are delicious all day long,” I protest.

He smiles fondly. “You need to diversify your food tastes, Snow.”

The lift lurches to a stop. Oh, for the love of Merlin. “Baz, did you press the emergency stop button?” I ask.

Baz smirks. “Why are you constantly accusing me of plotting, Snow?”

“Your finger is still on the button,” I observe. “What are you up to? The last time we were stuck here together you nearly had a panic attack.”

“The last time, I had no idea how long we’d be stuck here. It’s a bit different knowing I can press the button and get us moving again any time I want.” Baz wraps his hands about my waist. Oh. I suppose I could handle being stuck in this lift for a few moments more.

“You know, that button sets off an alarm at the Security desk downstairs,” I point out, sliding my hands up his chest. “They’ll get this lift moving again in a few minutes.”

Baz hums, leaning in closer. “Then we’ll just have to make the most of every moment, won’t we?” He tangles his fingers in my hair and nips kisses along my jawline.

I shiver and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Stop teasing and kiss me.”

“Gladly,” he smiles, before capturing my mouth with his own.

For someone so cold, his mouth is hot and wet. His tongue slides against my own. I pull him ever closer, my back pressing against the wall of the lift.

“We haven’t much time, love,” he murmurs against my neck.

We have enough time. We have forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! But not really, because I have a couple of other stories in mind about this AU, which I'll post in the [Watford Industries](http://archiveofourown.org/series/539422) series. Including ~~, maaaaaaaybe,~~ an E-rated continuation of this epilogue (*blushes mightily* *hides face*). **ETA: I did it,[I wrote the thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7966846)!**


End file.
